Heavy Reading
by halfwayhopeful
Summary: Oneshot, Post-Final Battle. Harry is staying with Severus due to overcrowding in the Infirmary, and when he browses through the Potions Master's personal library, he may find something he wasn't expecting. Rated M to be safe.


Heavy Reading

One-shot

Disclaimer: I own nothing. "The Sicilian Boss's Mistress" is the property of Penny Jordan. :)

Hospitable was never a word Harry would associate with Severus Snape. Not really. But the past few days he'd actually been bearable, and Harry couldn't help but wonder if it had anything to do with the recent defeat of Lord Voldemort.

It had been three days, and though most of the scarring would be permanent, Harry's wounds were healing quite nicely. A skilled and irritable Potions Master with nothing but brewing to do might have had something to do with it.

Classes were postponed due to rampant celebrating, and since Harry was staying in Severus' quarters due to crowding in the infirmary and the entirety of the Weasely clan abandoning the Burrow to stay with a badly wounded Fred, Harry's wounds and nutritional status were closely monitored by the older man.

It was kind of annoying sometimes, this constant vigilance, but it was more so to discover there was a bothersome silence whenever Snape was getting supplies, brewing, or conversing with an also recovering Dumbledore.

The opening of the front door roused Harry from his nap on Snape's (surprisingly) comfortable sofa. Said professor strode into view, motioning impatiently for Harry to move his legs before sinking into the slightly sunken cushion, expression softening minimally.

"Have a nice day, Potter?" Snape's voice lacked its usual venom. He sounded tired.

Harry shrugged and yawned. "Could have been better. What time is it?"

"Six. In the evening."

"Oh. I . . . waited . . . but I guess I fell asleep."

Snape's gaze, now lingering on Harry, was a bit distant. "What are your plans, Mr. Potter, now that you have been assured of your life's indefinite continuation?"

"Well, I want to be an Auror. Or a teacher; Defense Against the Dark Arts, more than likely. . . What are _your_ plans? You probably didn't think you'd survive . . ."

Harry trailed off as Snape stood and left without a word.

He blinked slowly at the blank space beside him and sighed before stretching and settling down for another nap.

……………..

It didn't seem possible, but Harry saw less of Snape than he had since the Final Battle. They took meals together, in Severus' small, efficient kitchen, both wanting to avoid the press for as long as possible, and though these were the only times Harry saw the older man, Snape was never really there.

Minus the triumphant smirks and biting comments, Snape was really just a skinny, broken little man, and Harry almost felt bad for him. Almost.

Years of torment could not be so easily forgotten, but it was a lot easier to be around him as Harry grew accustomed to Snape's idiosyncrasies.

He got up at five, no questions asked, he relieved himself, he showered (Never at the same time.), he dressed, ate, and was usually out the door by five thirty, headed for his private labs.

Besides that, he flitted in and out, mostly to check on Harry, and the appointed times for this, seven, noon, four, and six soon became something to look forward to in Harry's extended boredom.

Harry scolded himself for practically hopping in anticipation every time Severus came through the door, but the silence was harping, and Severus' books, which he'd had to swear on his life would not be harmed, were boring.

The only one that looked _remotely _interesting was a small, red paperback with a half-naked lady on the cover and a scrawled season's greeting from Dumbledore on the inside cover. "The Sicilian Boss's Mistress." Harry muttered. Shrugging, he sat down to read.

Two hours later, he stared blankly at the kitchen table, virginal innocence shattered, painfully aroused.

The opening of the door made Harry jump, and he panicked, looking for somewhere to stash the book, anywhere.

The soft clunking of Severus' boots. "Is that . . . A _Harlequin_ novel, potter?"

Harry winced, cheeks blazing. "Uh . . . no."

"Really . . ." Snape's presence became more defined and his fingers were cold as they brushed Harry's while sliding the book out of his slack grip. Harry didn't have to look to know that Snape's eyebrow was raised as he studied the blatant title and racy cover.

"Oh, Potter," His voice was soft "I didn't know you had it in you."

Harry blushed harder. _Kill me. Just . . . kill me . . . _

"You know, I've actually forgotten what this one's about. Lesee here . . . 'The bed on which they both lay naked was high, draped with richly sensuous silk fabric. But it's touch against her flesh was nowhere near as sensuously erotic as _his _touch, nor could the whisper of the fabric's kiss compare with the fierce passion of _his _kiss.' Interesting, indeed."

Harry whimpered. He was so screwed. Snape would never let him live this down. "Professor . . ." he mumbled, face painfully hot, "I didn't . . . I didn't know it would be that . . . explicit."

Another one of those half-assed chuckles. Harry squirmed when the sound did nothing to hinder his already rampant erection. Rather than being disgusted, as was to be expected, he was somewhat curious as to why Snape's voice had never done that before, aroused him in such a way.

Was it because he had already _been_ aroused or . . . or what? Warm breath on the back of his neck and cool fingers on his inner thigh made Harry jump.

"I like to consider myself skilled in the art in self control, but I simply have to know . . . Is that book the sole cause behind that erection?"

Harry shivered. That voice . . . why hadn't he noticed those depths before, those-The fingers moved, but the voice remained warm, taunting.

"Is it possible that I-" Cold fingers, cupping him.

"-an old "dungeon bat'-" Kneading.

"-could have possibly-" Faster.

"-aroused-" Click. Harry's trousers had somehow come undone.

"-The-Boy-" Cold fingers, slipping down, down.

"-Who-Read-" _Oh._

"-Harlequin-Novels." _Oh . . . Oh,heyI,wait,youdon'tah,but,oh,yourvoiceis . . ._

A sharp bite on the back of Harry's neck wrenched a hiss from the boy, and as Severus whispered, "Harry." The Savior of the Wizarding World came, hard.

Breathing heavily, he blushed as Severus ran slick fingers though the messy thatch of hair before him. "You know what I think, Potter?"

"Unh." Harry closed his eyes. That voice . . .  
"I think you read too much."


End file.
